


3E 422

by DaharMaster



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Gen, Guerrilla Warfare, Orsimer - Freeform, Politics, Wrothgarian Mountains, culture clash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8835424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaharMaster/pseuds/DaharMaster
Summary: The four hundred and twenty second year of the Third Era was a tumultuous time in the Wrothgarian Mountains, though there remains virtually no record of it. That was the doing of the Empire, but the Orsimer still remember. A war was waged in those mountains. It was a time of bloodshed, of rivalry, of betrayal, politics, and scheming. In one year much happened.





	

_ “After all this time, when I remember that year I remember many things. Life and death tied together, inseparable, like the mountains and valleys we called home.” _

_ \- Ugra gra-Shablug, the Last Witness _

**18th of Morningstar, 3E 422, Ghorikh Mazbur, Wrothgarian Mountains**

Quintus Rufus Pelagius looked upon the Orcish stronghold with disdain. It sat atop a rocky outcropping, a crude palisade wall surrounding it. From where he sat atop his bay steed he could just make out the top of the curved longhouse.

Then again, he looked at everything about his new assignment with disdain. After a botched mission into Black Marsh his superiors had used him as a scapegoat and he had been demoted to Knight Errant and given the most undesirable task of taking care of a tribe of Orcs who were deemed by the Bretons to be a little too close for comfort.

He looked back at the cohort of soldiers he had been given for this task, looking for the only one who might be of any use. This cohort was green, untried, not yet tempered by battle. Finally he found the individual in question. After all, he wasn’t hard to spot.

“Trooper gro-Khash, I have need of you,” he shouted. It was odd for a cohort to only have one Orc, but this one was an exception. The lone Orc, burly, a head taller than the others, with a dark and brooding face began to push his way through the formation and approached Quintus.

“I want you with me when we make our approach,” Quintus told the Orc, “I’m hoping you can… facilitate things, make things smoother.” The Orc simply stared at Quintus for a long moment then spoke in a hushed voice.

“This won’t go smoothly,” the Orc stated matter-of-factly, “But I’ll do what I can. Be prepared for anything.”

“You think they’ll simply attack us?” Quintus demanded. The Orc simply shrugged then motioned to the horse.

“I wouldn’t ride up to the gate if I were you,” gro-Khash muttered, “My people… they don’t like horses.” Quintus raised a brow at this, but he was wise and experienced enough to know when to listen, even if it was to an inferior.

Quickly he dismounted and one of his officers took his horse’s reins.

“Now let us approach,” he ordered and he and the Orc began trudging up the steep earthwork causeway that led to the large wooden gate in the palisade wall, their armor scraping and clanking, their mail jingling and swishing.

Finally they were only a few strides from the gate.

“By the authority of the Emperor, and the will of the Nine Divines, I demand to speak with your chieftain,” Quintus bellowed. Silence answered. Quintus noticed then that the Orc by his side had suddenly tensed up.

“Don’t move,” gro-Khash whispered out of the side of his mouth, “They’ve got their bows trained on us now.”

“What? Where?” Quintus hissed.

“Those gaps in the wall, those are intentional,” gro-Khash explained. Quintus nodded slowly. Damn, that was clever!

It was then that a head appeared above the wall next to the gate. It was an Orc woman, and she stared at the two for a long moment, appraising them. They kept still and silent. Finally, she spoke.

“Our chieftain will not speak with the likes of you, Imperial dog,” she grated in a harsh voice, “Begone from our lands or be dead where you stand.” Quintus gritted his teeth. He was furious, but not foolish enough to die.

“I am Kurzon gro-Khash, of the Ash-Tribe of Brughadur, I am Blood-Kin, and by the Code of Malacath I request audience with your chieftain,” gro-Khash shouted, much to Quintus’ surprise. The Orc woman narrowed her eyes at gro-Khash for a long moment, then turned to the side and barked orders in a guttural tongue Quintus could not understand.

“You, Kurzon gro-Khash, may have your audience, but the Imperial stays where he is,” she said as the gates swung open.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I believe this is the only way,” gro-Khash whispered to Quintus, then strode into the stronghold, the gate slamming shut behind him. Only then did Quintus truly realize his position. He was a captive kept as insurance, for surely the hidden bowmen still had their bows trained on him.

His face turned scarlet in rage and fury at this realization and he vowed that unless gro-Khash performed some miracle and got the tribe to agree to his terms, he would demote the trooper back down to recruit level at the least.

**Author's Note:**

> I was unsure about ranks in the Imperial Legion so I used the rank system from Morrowind. Also I am working under the assumption that an Imperial Legion cohort is quite a bit smaller than a Roman Legion cohort (about 500 men give or take) as that would be a bit overkill for just relocating some Orcs.


End file.
